Chapter 8 - The Interrogation Room
We bypassed the grand staircase, taking the tight, spiraling iron servants' stairs that led straight to the third-floor executive wing. The air up here was colder, smelling of lemon wax, old books, and stale gun oil.
Marcus was waiting outside Dominic’s private study, checking the display of a handheld frequency scanner.
“Retinal scan is uploaded to the bypass unit,” Marcus whispered hurriedly, handing Caleb a slim electronic pad with a suction interface. “And the rolling cipher from the token just generated a fresh sequence: 4-9-0-2-1-8. You have three minutes before the sequence cycles again.”
Caleb nodded. He didn't waste a second. Slipping into the study, he moved behind Dominic’s massive antique desk, pulling back a heavy oil painting of the Chicago fire to reveal the brushed-steel door of the safe.
He slammed the bypass unit over the optical scanner, hit the sync button, and punched in the six digits.
*Click-whirrrr.*
The heavy bolts disengaged with a dull, hydraulic thud.
Caleb swung the heavy door open. Inside were stacks of bearer bonds, hundreds of thousands in wrapped hundred-dollar bills, and three velvet-lined lockboxes. Caleb ignored the money completely. He reached directly into the back corner, pulling out a slate-gray military-grade hard drive labeled *PROJECT LAKE GENEVA – 2010.*
This was it. The black box of the Vale family. The unedited surveillance footage, the wire transfers to the explosives expert, and the signed autopsy falsifications that proved Dominic had orchestrated the murder of his wife.
Suddenly, the soft chime of Caleb’s wristwatch vibrated.
He spun around, shoving the hard drive into my hands.
*Someone is coming,* Caleb signed with terrifying speed. *Two men. Fast.*
Before Marcus could close the study door, the heavy oak was kicked inward with thunderous force.
Sal stood in the doorway, a chrome .45 leveled directly at Caleb’s chest. Behind him stood another enforcer, brass knuckles gleaming on his fist.
“I knew it,” Sal snarled, his scarred face twisting into a hideous, triumphant grin. “I told Dominic! I told him the dummy was playing him! Put the gun down, kid, or I blow the waitress’s brains all over the wall!”
Sal shifted his aim toward me.
In that split second, time fractured.
Caleb didn't drop his weapon. Instead, he lunged forward with inhuman speed.
*Crack!*
Sal’s gunshot tore through the ceiling plaster as Caleb’s left arm knocked the barrel aside. With his right hand, Caleb drove the palm of his hand upward into Sal’s jaw, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the study.
Sal stumbled back, roaring in pain, but the second enforcer lunged, tackling Caleb around the waist and slamming him into the mahogany desk. The ceramic pistol went skidding across the hardwood floor, disappearing beneath a leather sofa.
“Hannah, run!” Marcus shouted, wrestling Sal for control of the .45.
The second enforcer was massive—a heavyweight brawler who had Caleb pinned by the throat against the edge of the desk, his thumbs digging into Caleb's windpipe. Caleb fought back savagely, driving elbows into the man’s ribs, but the enforcer’s sheer mass was suffocating him.
Caleb’s face was turning blue, his dark eyes bulging as he choked for air.
A primal, blinding rage overtook me. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed the heavy bronze bust of Abraham Lincoln from Dominic’s side table and swung it with all the strength in my body, smashing it directly into the side of the enforcer's skull.
The man grunted, his eyes rolling back, and he collapsed like a felled redwood, crashing onto the carpet.
Caleb dropped to his knees, gasping violently for air, clutching his bruised throat.
Across the room, a muffled gunshot ended the struggle between Marcus and Sal. Sal slumped against the doorframe, a bullet hole through his shoulder, unconscious.
Marcus stood over him, panting, clutching a bleeding gash on his forehead. “The gunshot... the whole house heard that. The downstairs guards are coming. We have ninety seconds before the exit is cut off!”
I knelt beside Caleb, grabbing his trembling face in my hands.
*Can you stand?* I signed, my hands covered in plaster dust and sweat. *Caleb, look at me! Can you stand?*
Caleb looked up. His vision cleared, his dark eyes focusing on mine. He reached up, his bloody fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist, pulling himself up onto his feet.
He didn't need to sign. The feral determination burning in his gaze told me everything.
He grabbed the hard drive from the floor, shoved it into my coat, and picked up Sal’s dropped weapon.
May you like
We were breaking out.
***